


Before and After: A compilation of short Blake and Avon gen fic

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst and Humor, Compilation What Compilation, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written independently, but arranged in rough series chronology, these drabbles and other short fic show the developing relationship between Avon and Blake ending after the series.</p><p>The Post Gauda Prime fics at the end explore different possibilities and belong to different universes, but the others mostly fit into canon (AUs happen).</p><p>They range from light crack to angsty. Other characters appear, but are peripheral, so I didn't tag for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Small Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably an AU, but maybe not? They might have forgot.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Roj sat in the chair swinging his legs, and sucking his thumb, all big eyes and tousled curls. He still didn't understand why his teacher had caught him by the hand and dragged him, half-running, to the prefect's office. He didn't even know what a prefect was. 

"Now, Roj," the man said, "you must follow the rules. They're good rules." He pulled a little blue-backed pamphlet out of his desk. "You should read the student handbook."

Roj pulled his thumb out of his mouth to protest, "But, thir, I don't know how to read yet." He brightened. "I can count to seben, though!"

The man frowned at him. "You must concentrate on your studies, young man. I will read the relevant passage to you. It states: 'Displays of affection should not occur on the school campus at any time. It is in poor taste, reflects poor judgment, and brings discredit to the school and to the persons involved.'."

Roj frowned in confusion, a line forming briefly across his little pink forehead. "Thir, what does that mean, thir?"

"It means that you are NOT to run around the play yard kissing the other children! Most especially, you are not to kiss the boys!" The prefect spoke sharply and slapped his hand on his desk, making Roj jump.

Roj's huge, honey-colored eyes filled with tears. "But, but, they're my friends!"

"You are an Alpha! Alphas do not have friends!" The prefect nodded to Roj's teacher, who pulled Roj across his lap and gave him three strokes on his bare pink buttocks with the Approved Correctional Device. Roj cried all the way back to the schoolroom, rubbing his sore bottom with one hand and sobbing messily as he was hauled along again.

He sat in his seat, looking down at his desk, and snuffled. None of the other children spoke to him, but when the teacher was bending over Tynus's desk to scold him for drawing bugs outside the lines on his coloring-in assignment, Roj felt something pressed into his hand. He looked up, and saw little Kerry smile at him before returning to filling in the black on a trooper's uniform. Roj sniffed, unwrapped the grubby sweetie and popped it in his mouth before the teacher could see him. He smiled.

***

The next day, Kerry chased Roj all over the play yard, and pulled his hair. They had a glorious battle before the teacher hauled them both in to the prefect. This time he smiled and gave each of them a gold star for conduct. "Now, you see, Roj, that is how life is. No one is your friend. You can depend on no-one except the Federation itself."

Roj nodded dutifully. When he got home, he took the tiny teddy bear that Kerr had slipped into his shirt during their tussle, kissed the bear and put it under his pillow. "I love you, Kerry," he whispered as he fell asleep.


	2. Brothers

I was rather disconcerted the first time Zen tried to kill us. When I saw my brother... well, I later tried to convince myself that Zen had simply triggered some biological brain-circuitry in which I supplied my own memory. That Jenna saw her mother made it seem likely somehow it made you think of a close family member, without necessarily Zen knowing what you were thinking.

I could live with that- a simple stimulus/response defense mechanism isn't anything to take personally. But I couldn't stop thinking of Kyle. He was dead and I had to keep my mind on current issues, like not winding up dead myself. If the Federation didn't kill me, and Zen didn't kill me, I still had to keep Blake's idiotic plans from killing me.

All right, Blake is very... personable. He carries an invisible aura of certainty that tends to envelope you, smother you in emotion, blank out thought, make you believe in _luck_ and destiny and all that rot. I convinced myself that Blake didn't actually _care_ about anything except his crusade.

But he came to my cabin the day after we discovered how to produce fermented beverages from the food replicator, bottle cradled in one arm, and a surprisingly vulnerable and tired look on his face. I had nothing better to do, since sleeping was out of the question. Every time I closed my eyes, Kyle kept returning, in various unpleasantly gruesome images. I sometimes wish they'd told us the details... sometimes. So I let Blake in. I let him pour us drinks, which were about as noxious as you'd expect from synthetic fermented alien algae. Still, the alcohol content was high.

And I let him talk about his family. His sister and brother. He told me typical family stories, small traumas, petty arguments, little triumphs. Things they used to do as a family. Halfway through the bottle, I heard myself telling him about Kyle.

He listened, and didn't say anything stupid or demand any emotional display. When the bottle was empty, he picked it up, said good night, and left. I slept well that night.

The next day Blake was his usual annoyingly optimistic self on the flight deck, but with a good night's sleep behind me, I was better able to tolerate him. Sometimes, he doesn't really annoy me at all.


	3. Small Beginnings

Avon stared down at the dead eyes, open and unblinking, that seemed to stare back at him. He gazed in shocked horror at the dead body, limp, yet still warm. "Blake... have you... betrayed _me_?" he murmured softly. An infinity of anguish shadowed his eyes, darkening them.

A silence came over the room, which had been full of light and sound moments ago.

"Oh, for the love of... what a drama queen." Blake snatched up the slice of anchovy pizza and exchanged it for his own. "There, sausage and pepperoni. Happy birthday, Avon."

Avon smiled slowly. "Where's the ice cream?"

(done for the prompt request: Blake and Avon: Anchovies)


	4. Light Fantastic

When particularly irritated with Blake, I use Orac to search among obscure data-banks, whilst pretending to conduct vital research. This poem from the Old Calendar, written by a man named Milton back in 1632, struck a responsive chord.

Come, and trip it as ye go,  
On the light fantastick toe.  
And in thy right hand lead with thee,  
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;

Blake dances extraordinarily well. I believe that's why I stay - to watch the performance.

I don't want to be here when he inevitably does trip and fall, but, until then…it's the best show in the universe.


	5. Noncontiguous

Blake understood Avon better than he admitted. It wouldn't have done, after all, to say it out loud. He knew what Avon needed, but couldn't ask for, couldn't even demand, could only take when the situation was right.

It found a complementary need in Blake, one that he couldn't ask for, couldn't even accept when it was freely offered. But when Avon took, Blake could stoically endure what he craved.

Alphas don't hug.


	6. Camo-Kazi

Avon drew the line at the faux leopard jacket. At first he thought Cally had failed Camouflage 101, judging by her lipstick-red outfit on Saurian Major. Then she wore several green outfits, possibly trying to match Earthlike vegetation on the off chance they'd require her jungle guerrilla tactics. 

But the leopard jacket was an act of war. 

She was trying to fit Blake's Robin Hood theme to become one of his 'Merry Men in Lincoln Green'. Be damned if he'd be out-merried by a skinny alien. Avon's green and silver outfit was blatant.

And Blake still didn't get the message.


	7. Following the Thread

Avon read the Freedom Party Manifesto, and in return, Blake read a work of Avon's choosing, with Avon's favourite passage highlighted yellow.

You don't have to signal a social conscience by looking like a frump.  Lace knickers won't hasten the holocaust, you can ban the bomb in a feather boa just as well as without, and a mild interest in the length of hemlines doesn't necessarily disqualify you from reading Das Kapital and agreeing with every word.  ~Elizabeth Bibesco 

Blake put down the book and shook his head firmly. "No, Avon. I am not going with you to Hard-Core Leather."

(prompt was 'clothing'. Hard-Core Leather was the _actual_ shop which provided the actors with many of their outfits.)


	8. Quiet as the Grave

Avon looked up, but all he could see was a circle of unfamiliar stars. He sighed and sat back down again in the muck. "If there's one abandoned well on the entire planet, you have to find it, don't you, Blake?"

Blake didn't bother to open his eyes, there was nothing to see. "And why did you have to follow me?"

Avon scowled, invisible in the darkness, and then he smiled. "You mean, into the well, now."

Blake waited, and when Avon said nothing else, he groaned. "Avon, it's too dark for puns. I can't see you smirking."

"I never smirk." Avon sat beside Blake and put one hand out feeling along Blake's arm and up to his shoulder. "It will be light soon."

"Yes." Blake's hand came up and pressed on Avon's. "I see."

"Or you will."

"No. I see now, Avon."

"Ah." Avon smiled into the darkness.

 

(written as a test post when the Adult B7 mailing list had been unusually quiet)


	9. Cure For Depression

The rain was a solid wall of horizontal gray striped with flashes of impossibly green lightning. Avon moved back from the window into the center of the room.

"It was only a tropical depression," Blake said as he calmly took off his sodden shirt.

"Well, it's a full blown mania now." The roof rattled, and Avon looked around wildly.

"An enclosed area is safer." Blake pulled Avon into a tiny storage cupboard, kicking supplies out before wrapping his arms around Avon and holding him tightly. "Does that feel better?"

"No." But Avon closed his eyes and let Blake hold him.


	10. Being Groomed

Avon glanced over at Blake. "There's only one bed."

Blake gave Avon an amused look. "You aren't worried about your virtue, are you?"

Avon showed Blake his teeth. "I never worry about the nonexistent."

Blake chuckled. "Then what's the problem?" He stretched and a few dry leaves fell to the dirt floor.

"Hygiene. You managed to pick up a considerable quantity of vegetation."

Blake shook his head and more debris fell. "I'm sorry, but I was rather more concerned about avoiding pursuit than plants." Blake had led the way, breaking a path for Avon through the worst of the tangle. His shirt was torn, and there were a few scratches on his face.

Avon clucked his tongue in exasperation. "Come here." He pushed the cabin's only sturdy chair towards Blake. "I'm not sleeping with a hedge."

In good humor, Blake sat. "We won't be here long. Jenna's bringing Liberator back at local noon tomorrow."

"So she said." Avon stood behind Blake and began picking twigs out of Blake's hair.

Blake closed his eyes and let his head fall back. "You trust Jenna."

"What makes you believe that?"

"If you didn't you would hardly be worrying about a few leaves."

"In point of fact, I do trust her to come back... for you."

Blake chuckled again. "You could try being nicer to her."

"Yes, but would it be kind? The shock might prove too much." Avon settled into a soothing rhythm of teasing hair apart and plucking out foreign matter. 

Soon Blake was frankly dozing. He came to abrupt wakefulness when he felt something warm and wet running along one of the scratches by the side of his face. 

"There's no water supply," Avon said, softly. "I'm told saliva is antiseptic." He continued slowly licking Blake's face.

Blake watched Avon from close range. He said, quietly, "What do you want, Avon?"

Avon looked up at Blake. "If you can't guess, then I'm going about it all wrong."

"I'm not playing guessing games, Avon. The stakes are too high."

Avon sighed. "It's getting dark. I suppose we should go to bed." He gave Blake a sideways look, a slanting line of dusty sunlight giving his eye a bright gleam.

"Yes. I suppose we should." Blake rose and grabbed Avon in a sudden hug, releasing him almost as quickly. "Thank you."

"For tidying you?"

"For that. And other things." Blake smiled. "We'll talk later, on the ship." 

"Yes. We will."


	11. Bloody Fool

The blood dripped, welling slowly. Avon gave an exclamation of horror and snatched up Blake's hand. "What the hell were you thinking?" He began licking the wound.

"You said you wanted me to be quiet this time."

"I didn't mean for you to gag yourself with your own flesh!" Avon resumed licking. 

"You know, there is antiseptic in the loo. Not that I'm saying you should stop." Blake gazed down at Avon's head bent over his hand.

"Saliva is antiseptic." Avon began sucking Blake's thumb.

"That's good to know."

Avon looked at Blake. "Don't bleed on my black silk sheets."


	12. Imprinted

The Amagons transferred Blake to another ship. By the time the Liberator's crew regained control Blake was gone. 

The huge ransom they offered tempted many con-men, so when Avon, Jenna and Vila entered yet another dingy room containing a blindfolded and bound, curly-haired man, they were skeptical.

The man was barely conscious, head slack and mouth bloody. Vila blotted the man's broken lips gingerly with his handkerchief. The man moaned in falsetto, and Vila dropped the handkerchief. "This can't be Blake!'

Avon took one look at the scarlet lip-print before snapping a bracelet on the man's wrist. "It's Blake! Teleport!"


	13. DIY (Do It Yourself)

Avon muttered to himself as he worked. "Blake is an engineer. Or so he tells us. So why is it that when something requires immediate repair in the middle of my sleep shift, I wind up doing it?"

Avon tightened the connection and jerked as sparks flew in his face. He instinctively backed up and whacked his head on the access panel. He closed his eyes and regained control over his temper, imagining himself hauling it in on a rope, hand over fist. When Blake appeared at the end of the rope, face purpling as he clawed at the noose around his neck, Avon grinned and relaxed.

"I suppose it's my own fault, in a way. I've done so many repairs on my own initiative that I'm now firmly pegged as the Do-it-Yourself person." He removed the singed component and attached a new one, right side up this time, and watched in satisfaction as relays clicked and signal connection lights turned a healthy pink.

He tidied up, checked once more that the repair was correct, and then trudged back to his quarters. His bed was beckoning. He still had four hours before he was due on watch. 

Blake was standing before his door, smiling. Avon's head went up and his internal alarms began sounding. "What is it now? I'm tired!"

"I know you are." Blake put on that special warm burr in his voice that made Avon's insides melt. "I was thinking that I haven't been showing you enough appreciation lately. I could help you relax."

Avon thought about it for half a second. He did always enjoy sex with Blake, and hadn't had any for weeks. Blake chose the wrong moment for a smug grin. Avon smiled sweetly at Blake, and pushed past him to open the door. He went into his quarters, and turned immediately to face Blake.

"Blake. Do it yourself." He shut the door in Blake's face and went to bed.


	14. Remembering Gauda Prime (mildly angsty PGP AU)

My personal comm flickers, silently accepting the incoming message before the other comms in the residence get the signal. I don't normally bother to answer them at all, once I verify the caller is a stranger, but today of all days the anger is too close to the surface and I want... I _need_ to release it. This number has called and been refused a dozen times in the last week. Some ghoul of a newsfeeder, perhaps. 

"What do you want?" If my abruptness intimidates the woman on the other end of the line, her cheery reply doesn't show a trace of it.

"Happy Gauda Prime Day!" she chirps and I wish, more than ever, for the ability to fly through the ether and wipe the smile off her fatuous face. I have my end of the comm set for sound only, but she has no sense of security, allowing not only her unfiltered voice, undisguised features, but also her true location to feed through to me. Oh, for Liberator's neutron blasters.

"I repeat, what do you want?" Perhaps something of my tone arouses a faint survival instinct as she looks away from me. No, I'm mistaken, she's merely looking for her script.

"On this occasion, we remember those who gave their all to create the New Freedom. A small donation ..."

My patience, never a long rope, has reached the end. "You aren't looking for me. You want Blake. He was always the bleeding heart, ready to give his all for the Cause. Well, he'd given the last of it, thirty years ago. Do you hear?" I am still controlled enough not to raise the volume of my voice. "Remove this number from your calling list." 

"Oh, of course, sir. I'm sorry." She doesn't sound it, doesn't sound as if she has any idea what bringing up Gauda Prime does to me. Happy. My god. Happy indeed. There will be parades and brass bands and children eating sticky sweets, while hawkers sell tawdry commemoratives with Blake's face, inexpensive shirts with three bloody holes across the belly... The comm unit smashes against the wall, shattering nearly as loud as a shot.

I stare at the mess, the strewn bits of a rather expensive bit of domestic technology, for several minutes. I should clean it up. It's early and I'm barefoot. Would be stupid to cut myself. To bleed on the floor. Blood on the floor is the worst mess of all. You can never get the stain out. All it takes is the right light to show it up again.

It's early. Remember that. It's not too late, it's early. I get the cleaning materials and remove the debris, salvaging the memory chip for reuse. So long as memory lasts, the outer shell is unimportant. I put everything away and return to the bedroom to dress. I meet my eyes in the mirror. I can still do that. It isn't easy, but it's necessary. Then I turn to the bed, to face the memory of Blake as he was. We had been fire and ice, although we could never decide which of us was which. Mutually destructive, but oh, the meeting was so spectacular. Until the last meeting, after that... well, smoke and water. A mess. A wasted mess.

And then Blake opens his eyes and smiles at me. His eyes are the same, clear and honey-tinted, amusement crinkling the corners. "Good morning," he says, lifting a hand to rumple through his snow-colored curls. Then he reaches for the exo-legs beside the bed and slips them onto his thin legs with the ease of long practice. "What's for breakfast?"

"Whatever you like," I say. "After all, today is..." The words stick in my throat.

Blake frowns. "Avon." He strides over to me, moving as smoothly, as strongly, as any man his age. They're very good legs. The best I could buy and then improve. The patent helps pay for our home. He puts his arms around my shoulders and kisses me. "Avon. It's today. That's what day it is. Today. Make me an omelette. I love your omelettes."

I don't cry. Of course not. I never do. But Blake likes onion in his omelette. Watering eyes is purely a bio-chemical reaction. No one could avoid it, no matter what day it was.


	15. Binding Promises

I seldom make promises. My word means too much to me. I promised Anna ... well, does it matter what I promised? I failed her. Yes, I know she set me up to fail. But I didn't know that at the time. 

And now I've promised Blake to hold _Liberator_ in harm's way. Vila thinks I'm an idiot. Jenna didn't say anything. I suspect she's in rather a fey mood, due to Blake's continued disinterest in her charms and a reckless show of loyalty suits her at the moment. And Cally, of course, is a warrior.

I am not a warrior, an idiot, nor fecklessly loyal. So why, I ask myself, did I bind myself to this promise? It couldn't have been because Blake asked me to do it. Or because the man insists on seeing me as a friend. It wasn't in order to acquire _Liberator_. Blake had already agreed the ship would be mine, and he'd eroded his power base with his followers to the point that it really wouldn't have done him any good to stay if he changed his mind.

It really can't be because Blake looked so weary after so many disappointments. Or because he was depending on me.

No. It must be that I'd subconsciously realized that if we fled and permitted the aliens to establish control of this sector, there would be no safety for any humans, anywhere and _Liberator_ would be the most sought-after non-planetary target. After all, they'd been in contact with Travis and he most likely had passed on his obsession with _Blake's_ ship. That was it. I accepted the risk of being killed quickly as against the certainty of being slowly hounded to death.

You see, it's purely a pragmatic decision.

(Takes place at Star One)


	16. Equation

In mathematics, two numbers whose sum is zero are opposites.

In human terms, then, my opposite number is someone who negates all my accomplishments. I was slow to recognize this individual. At first I blamed colleagues holding me back, and superiors preventing my advancement.

Then there was Blake- with him gone, nothing would be beyond my grasp. I was right- without him, I found I have all the nothing anyone could possibly desire.

I would like to name Servalan, but in all honesty I've never been an equal hindrance to her.

I looked in the mirror at last; equation solved.

(the prompt was Opposites)


	17. Avon Request Forms

Blake typed, 'I need a computer expert', scowled and pressed 'submit'. The screen flashed red, 'Denied, reason insufficient'. Blake growled and began typing again. "Having a hard time?" Tarrant asked as he wandered past, chatting with his brother.

"No, I'm doing just fine," Blake muttered, and pressed submit, sending off 'He owes me for Gauda Prime. I want revenge'. 'Denied, reason insufficient' lit up the screen. Blake refrained from putting his fist through it.

The Tarrant brothers shrugged and walked off to discuss guns. 

Soolin came by with her arms linked with her sister, talking about hair styles. "You're not still at it, are you, Blake?" Soolin inquired.

"Yes, I am, actually." Blake glared at her until she chuckled and left. 'He has important technical information that the rebellion needs'. Red flash.

Dayna was laughing with her father and sister. "Honestly, Blake, haven't you got it yet?"

Blake looked up at her. "Haven't you got anything better to do?"

Dayna giggled and left the room with her family. Blake heaved a huge sigh and slowly typed, 'I miss the aggravating little bugger'.

A door slid open and Avon walked across the platform and down to Blake. He held up one hand and clicked a remote control; the screen flashed green, 'Request accepted'. He grinned. "You only had to ask."

 

(this is AU, with families reunited where in canon many of them had died.)


	18. Isn't That Charming?  (A PGP AU)

Avon lay in the stasis tube with his hands folded over his breast. Dayna, Soolin, Vila, Jenna, Deva, Klyn, and Tarrant carried the tube solemnly and laid it at Blake's feet.

Vila said, "The massacre was Tarrant's idea. He thought the shock would bring Avon to his senses."

Tarrant scowled. "You all agreed."

Jenna shook her head. "I didn't. It's bad enough I have to play dead so Blake could collect my bounty. But how's a dead Blake going to recruit anyone?"

Blake opened the stasis tube and leaned down to kiss Avon. Avon's eyelids fluttered. Jenna rolled her eyes.

(prompt topic was: Stealing's Quicker which meant using a theme from something non-B7).


	19. Hearts and Flowers (A mildly Cracky PGP AU)

"Are you sure the scissors are blunt?" Blake asked, peering in through the window slot at his once (and future?) crewmate.

"Plastic. They'll barely cut paper," Carnell reassured him. "Go on."

Blake took a deep breath. "And you'll be watching?"

"Every second."

"I mean, he might still be mad... well, of course, I know he's still barking mad, but he might be angry, after all this time locked up in a padded cell."

Carnell sighed. "Blake, I know this isn't easy for you, but you must get over this neurotic fear. Since Avon shot you..." Carnell assessed Blake's reaction to his words, then went on, "you've been afraid even to undertake the simplest mission. I was recruited specifically to get you back on your feet, and in my best judgment, the only way to accomplish that is to have you confront your fear. You've got to face Avon. Now." Carnell unlocked the door, opened it, and bodily pushed Blake into the room.

"Avon?" Blake whispered. He had backed up immediately, and was pressed up against the door.

Avon locked up. He had been sitting cross-legged on the floor amid a scattering of red paper scraps. He stared at Blake.

"It's me, Blake."

Back in the observation room, Carnell winced at Blake's remark and nodded to the guard beside him. "Yes, perhaps you'd better stand by with the stun-gun." The guard left the room, and Carnell turned up the sound on the monitor, while he rummaged around in the cold-box for a glass of wine.

Avon didn't say anything. But then, he hadn't said anything since the rebels had retrieved him from the specially fitted cellar room under Sleer's holiday home-away-from-home. They'd patched him up physically and tried all the modern and traditional therapies, and still not got a word out of him. He had become quite adept at basket-weaving, making clay ashtrays, and finger-painting. His latest project involved cutting out strings of paper dolls.

"I thought... I thought you might like some chocolates?" Blake said, holding out a package wrapped in silvery paper.

Avon was still staring at Blake.

Blake opened the package himself. "They're quite good." He held the box out to Avon, who dropped the scissors and retreated to the far end of the padded cell before turning to face Blake again.

Blake looked at the door, then braced his shoulders and turned back to face Avon. "We need to talk." Blake rubbed his chin. "At least, they say I need to talk to you." 

Avon was still looking at Blake, large-eyed and prison-pale.

Blake took a step towards him. "I'm alive, you know," Blake said. "They told you that, didn't you believe them?"

Avon blinked and shook his head. Blake wasn't sure whether it was an answer or a nervous twitch. He took another step. Avon scrambled past Blake to take up a nearly identical position watching again.

Blake approached again, and again at the last second Avon fled. "We're not getting anywhere, are we?" Blake sat down on the floor and looked across at Avon, their eyes now level. "Then again, that's always the way it was with us." He smiled. "Like two magnets, attracted at the opposite poles, but utterly unable to meet where we are alike. I'm afraid of you," Blake admitted, watching as Avon responded with another negative jerk of his head. "I always was, in a way, I suppose. But at the same time, I always trusted you." Blake shook his head. "It doesn't make sense, does it? Nevertheless, it's true." Blake sighed, closed his eyes and rested his head against the padded wall. After a few moments, he heard a faint noise, but something stronger than the instinct to look kept his eyes shut and his body outwardly relaxed.

Finally he felt a gentle tug on the box he still held and he opened his eyes. Avon released the box. Blake smiled at him. "Go on. It's yours. Take it."

Avon tilted his head to one side, listening and considering. He reached for the box, hesitated, then looked down at his own hand. Blake followed Avon's gaze. Avon was still holding the paper he'd been cutting when Blake entered. He turned his hand palm up and opened it.

Blake caught his breath. Avon had been cutting a silhouette, a familiarly curly-headed face surrounded by a heart-shaped frame. Avon offered it to Blake.

Blake accepted it. Avon smiled then. Blake reached out at the same time Avon moved in. Chocolates and paper flew.

Carnell nodded to himself, and turned off the surveillance. "That was too simple, really. Must remember to make it more dramatic when I go to collect my final payment." He stretched out his legs across another chair, and settled down for a nap. "I wonder if Avon knows where I can get a really challenging chess-machine?"


	20. The Robe (mildly Angsty PGP AU)

Blake tucked the robe tighter around his waist, the worn suede belt showing the shiny patches where he used to fasten it. He'd lost weight due to the operation and its aftermath.

He sighed, thinking of all the fry-ups he'd eaten over the years, and how Avon used to grin and hold onto his love-handles while he fucked Blake legless.

Well, those days were gone. He should count himself fortunate to have survived. Avon wasn't the universe's best shot, but a blind man couldn't have missed at that range.

Blake lay down on his bed and considered whether it was worth the effort of calling someone to bring him his evening 'meal'. He probably should. He did still have a duty to his rebellion and starving himself was no way to lead. He leaned up on one elbow and triggered the com, making his request and lying down again to wait for it.

He was in the middle of planning a raid on a munitions works in the next system when his door announcer buzzed. He said, "Come in, " and triggered the door release without looking up.

Footsteps, soft and quiet, came to his bedside.

"Just put it on the table, thanks." Blake has almost got the tricky part worked out- the escape after planting the bombs. It would be easier with the teleport, but he lost that when he lost the Liberator, when he lost Avon. He muttered, "Teleport, teleport, my kingdom for a teleport," trying to force levity where he felt none.

"It needn't be so dear a bargain."

Blake started, and looked up into Avon's eyes, looking as rueful as they always did when he managed to cross paths with Blake these days. Blake sat up, suddenly furious. "And who invited you in here?"

"You did." Avon put the container of nutridrink down at the bedside table. "I had them add honey to it. You used to enjoy honey."

"I used to enjoy many things." Blake swung his legs off the bed, and the robe gaped open.

Avon gasped and fell to his knees, eyes locked on the still livid scar splashed across Blake's abdomen.

Blake looked at Avon in irritation. "You needn't be so theatrical. We all know you regret you shot me. We also all know you'd do it again, under the same circumstances."

"Perhaps." Avon looked up into Blake's face. "And perhaps not."

"Don't try to tell me that you love me." Blake stood up and walked past Avon. "You've never said it before, and it's too late now. I don't want to hear it."

Avon said softly, "I'll give you the teleport."

Blake swung back to face Avon, still kneeling. "And what do you want in return? My trust? That's gone. My love? You shot that to hell. My arse? Well, why not, I've put it on the line for the rebellion more than once."

Avon shook his head mutely, his eyes... oh, damn his eyes. His eyes made Blake feel. And Blake didn't want to feel. Avon cleared his throat. "I'll do it for permission to leave."

Blake stopped pacing, a fist suddenly in his throat. "Never." He coughed and went past Avon to pick up the canister of drink. It was better with honey, wild and sweet leavening the blandness of the balanced diet. "I don't want you to leave. All right, you can have my arse for old time's sake, but after that, I don't want to see you in here." Blake started to take off the robe, but Avon's choked protest stopped him.

"I... couldn't. Not..." Avon stared at the scar again.

Blake sighed and wrapped the robe around himself. "You used to be a hard man, Avon. You could always live with the consequences of your actions."

"People change." Avon looked up at Blake.

Blake felt the scar inside his heart soften and disappear. He dropped to his knees beside Avon, with a grunt, and some residual pain. He put his arms around Avon, who paused and then embraced Blake tightly, laying his head against Blake's shoulder. "I'm sorry," Avon said, softly. And then he wept, soaking Blake's bathrobe.

 

(written for the Fluffy Bathrobe challenge)


	21. For My Sins (Mildly Angsty PGP AU)

Avon had fleeting fantasies about Gauda Prime. Sometimes he imagined he'd overridden Orac, heard Slave's warning and Scorpio had avoided being shot down. Or that Tarrant had fainted and not primed Avon to expect betrayal. Or that the troopers had shot a little straighter and Avon wasn't here at all.

He looked down at the tray he held. Cereal, sliced banana, sippy cup of juice, buttered toast with the crusts removed. He triggered the door release with his elbow, and put on the smile that covered a multitude of sins. Softly he said, "Good morning, Rojjie, I've brought your breakfast."

(Written for a Random Word challenge: My finger went between these two words:  
expiation. (the act of making atonement)  
expiatory. (able to make atonementor offered by way of atonement.) )


	22. Back to Bach (mildly cracky PGP AU)

For their fourth wedding anniversary, Avon used his new time-travel machine to send him and Blake back to Old Earth to hear some of the world's greatest music, as played by the original composers.

Unfortunately the machine had a slight drawback. It only sent your consciousness back to the body of a person who belonged in that time. Avon, much to his annoyance, became a famous castrati, and Blake a nearly deaf labourer.

Fortunately, they both knew British sign language. Avon's subtle hand-gestures during a concert invited Blake for a private recital of baroque chamber music.

Then  they went home.

 

(written to fill a request :slash/ science fiction/ Bach/ 17th or 18th century music/ British sign language.)


End file.
